Stray
by Meng Xiaojie
Summary: Somehow, he's going to turn this runty little stray into Mitsurugi's next dragon.


**Stray**

_By Meng Xiaojie_

_Disclaimer: Rurouni Kenshin and all related properties are copyrights of Nobuhiro Watsuki, et al. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No infringement is intended._

**Warnings: Rated PG for a bit of language. Beware the Shishou 'n Deshi flavored WAFF.**

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Giving his brand new runt a long once-over, Hiko Seijuurou was keenly reminded of the homeless puppy he'd rescued as a very young boy. He'd presented the grubby, skinny little mutt to his mother, begging her to allow him to keep it—and, after much pleading and a few shiny tears, she had given her consent. It was no surprise, really; even at that tender age he'd been a skilled thief of women's hearts, and his mother hadn't been any exception.

Once he'd won his mother's approval, however, he'd run into an unforeseen dilemma: he hadn't had the faintest idea what to do with a puppy in such sorry shape. It was pretty obvious he wasn't going to get away with simply tying a rope around its neck and tethering it to the tree out front.

_Can't very well do that with my new apprentice, either,_ Hiko snorted inwardly. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, eyeing the silent little creature standing a few feet away, near the soot-darkened kiln. Perhaps his mother's instructions regarding that scrawny mutt could be put to use with a scrawny boy, as well.

"_Take that dog down to the creek and give it a bath,"_ she'd commanded. "_It smells like your father's feet, and it probably has fleas!"_

The boy probably didn't have fleas, and he _definitely_ didn't smell like anyone's feet, but he could certainly use a bath. He was covered from head to toe in dried sweat, dirt, grime, and blood. Hiko had also noticed quite a few scrapes, especially on the boy's arms and hands—probably the result of digging all those graves without any proper tools. _I'll have to take a look at those scratches, just to make sure he doesn't end up with an infection,_ the swordsman mused.

"Hey, kid," he said briskly, then checked himself—the boy had a name now, and he'd never get used to it if his shishou didn't use it once in a while. "Kenshin," he began again, "have you ever used a proper bathhouse before?"

No eye contact. Just a quick, silent head-shake. Hiko frowned a bit, but decided that he could work on breaking the submissive routine later, after he'd gotten the boy settled. "Well, come on," he said, heading for the modest bathhouse crouched just outside his cozy little dwelling. "I'll show you how it's done. Watch carefully, though—I'm not in the habit of repeating myself."

He heard quick, scuffing little footsteps behind him as the boy—_Kenshin, not "the boy," damn it!_—hurried to keep up with his much longer stride. Thankfully, the furo was already full of clean water; Hiko had filled it earlier in the evening, before heading down to the village to pick up some blue ceramic glaze and a jug of sake. He made sure Kenshin was watching attentively, then showed the boy how to build a good fire in the alcove under the bathhouse.

"I'm making this your job from now on," Hiko informed his new student. "In addition to your kenjutsu training, you'll be responsible for certain chores around here. I'll let you know what they are as they come up. Understand?"

Hunkered into a tiny ball nearby, Kenshin nodded meekly as he watched the fire grow into a respectable blaze. Hiko grunted in satisfaction. "Good. While that warms up a bit, let's see if I can find you something else to wear." He stood and moved toward the main cabin, trailing Kenshin in his wake.

"We'll go into town and buy you some real clothes tomorrow," Hiko tossed over his shoulder as he flung the door open and set his sake jug on the floor just inside. That done, he shrugged out of his white cloak and carefully hung it from the pegs he'd hammered into the far wall. "For tonight, I think I can tinker with one of my old shirts. It'll be big on you, but…" His voice trailed off as he turned to see the boy standing frozen in the doorway, staring at his chest and arms with huge eyes. Hiko cocked an eyebrow. "What? Never seen muscles before?" he asked bemusedly.

Kenshin quickly looked away, but didn't say anything. His messy red bangs flopped over his face, hiding his expression, but Hiko could feel the nervous ki sputtering around the boy's slight frame. The swordsman frowned again; this wouldn't do. It seemed his apprentice had quite a few issues to work around before he'd be able to take on the Hiten Mitsurugi mantle.

Issues that could wait until _after_ the boy was clean and dressed like a human being.

A little rummaging swiftly produced a well-worn green training gi. "This'll do," Hiko remarked aloud. Working quickly, he sliced a good foot and a half of fabric from the bottom of the garment, shortening it to better fit Kenshin's diminutive height. "The sleeves will be too big, but we can tie them back for tonight," he told the boy. As an afterthought, he cut a narrow strip from the extra material. "And there's an obi for you. The water should be warm by now; go in and scrub as much of the dirt off as you can before you get into the furo. Oh, and wash your hair before you get in, too. There's some soap you can use, and a bucket to rinse the extra out."

He received no answer, just another compliant nod, _yes_. Hiko huffed out a short sigh. "Are you going to need help in there, Kenshin?" he asked, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible (a concept that, to be honest, he was having difficulty with). The boy gave him a quick head-shake, _no._ "All right," the swordsman told him. "If you get stuck or something, yell for me."

When Kenshin had gone, Hiko carefully stashed his new pottery glaze with the rest of his supplies, then contemplated his next step. The boy would soon be clean and dressed, and then what? Once again, he found himself turning to his mother's directives concerning the puppy.

"_For the gods' sake, son, feed the poor thing. It looks like it hasn't eaten in a month!"_

Hiko scowled faintly. _Kenshin looks like he hasn't eaten—ever._ The boy had to be at least eight or nine, but he wasn't any taller than the local innkeeper's six-year-old daughter. The hollows around his eyes were worrisome, too; in the dying sunlight, Hiko hadn't gotten a very good look at his new ward, but he'd noted the stick-thin arms and legs. _Have to start putting meat on those little sticks,_ he thought dourly, _or Hiten Mitsurugi will break him to pieces._

With that in mind, he took stock of his edibles, and decided that a light meal would be best for the boy's stressed system. Rice, miso soup, and the last bit of weak tea in the container (left over from the last time he'd had a visitor—a year past, at least) would do nicely for Kenshin. The same for his shishou, but with a healthy dose of sake instead of tea.

The sun had completely sunk below the trees, and the meal was nearly finished, by the time Kenshin re-appeared in the cabin doorway. He was quite a sight, and Hiko had to suppress a startled chuckle. Free of its tie and still glisteningly wet, the boy's thick hair hung in dark, straggly clumps, hugging his face and neck like vines clinging to a tree trunk. The green gi was far too large on him, even more so than Hiko had anticipated. It dragged on the floor around his small feet, and the shoulders were so broad that the actual sleeve seams hung somewhere past Kenshin's elbows.

Hiko noticed the coarse, dingy bundle clutched in the boy's arms, and after a moment, he recognized it. "Toss your old clothes into the fire under the bathhouse," he said firmly. "You won't need them anymore."

Kenshin hesitated, then nodded and vanished from sight again. In the meantime, Hiko dug out what few medical supplies he had on hand—some bandages and a bit of herbal salve—and fired up his small lamp for some extra lighting. He wanted to take a look at those scrapes on the boy's arms and hands before they ate; even a small cut could brew a lethal infection, Hiko knew, especially in a boy so small and underfed. _My old shishou would come back from the grave to Ryuu Tsui Sen me into the ground,_ he thought nostalgically, _if I let my first apprentice die such a stupid death._

As if on cue, the boy slipped back into the cabin and stood quietly, watching Hiko sniff and dab experimentally at the salve. Without looking up, the swordsman beckoned to his apprentice. "Come over here, so I can see you," he said. "Your arms looked pretty beat up earlier, and I need to make sure you won't get an infection."

Kenshin blinked in obvious bewilderment, but he did as he was told. Crouching down as low as possible, Hiko carefully pulled the boy around to stand in the light. He shook his head in amusement at the folds upon folds of sleeve material sagging from the skinny arms. "Definitely going to have to tie those back for you," he muttered. A glance at the boy's wan face revealed a dark smudge of dirt still clinging to one high cheekbone, and Hiko sighed. "Baka, I asked you if you needed any help," he said gruffly, reaching out to swipe a thumb against the smudge.

The boy flinched away from his touch, and the swordsman froze—it wasn't dirt, it was a bruise. A sore, blackened bruise on a helpless child's face.

For one brief instant, Hiko Seijuurou's steel-lined guts twisted, and his ki spiked with fury. _Who the hell hits a starved little runt like this?_ he thought, scowling blackly. Honorless scum though they might have been, those bandits had done the world a favor by dispatching those bastard slavers. _It would have been more satisfying to do it myself, but I won't begrudge providence's little ironies._ Besides, he'd gotten to the scene in time to save Kenshin from meeting the same fate as his keepers. That was something, at least.

A wisp of alarmed ki brushed against his senses, and Hiko suddenly noticed that the boy was shaking. _Felt my anger, did you?_ he wondered privately, frowning faintly at his student's downcast eyes and trembling lips. "Kenshin, look at me," he commanded, wincing at the harsh tone that came out of his mouth. _Calm down, idiot, before you give the boy a stroke._ "Look at me," he repeated, more gently this time.

The boy visibly tensed, no doubt anticipating a blow. Slowly, uncertainly, he raised a pinched gaze to meet Hiko's intense stare. Dark auburn locks stuck wetly to his forehead, and the hurtful bruise on his cheek stood out in stark relief against his chalky skin.

"Listen to me carefully, Kenshin," Hiko told him, as quietly and as purposefully as he could manage. "I brought you here to teach you to wield a sword with more power than any other kenjutsu discipline in Japan can claim. To do that, I'm going to have to knock you around quite a bit."

The boy seemed to wilt in resignation, and Hiko resisted the urge to shake some reassurance into him. Instead, he merely continued with, "I can't tell you that learning Hiten Mitsurugi Ryuu won't hurt. You'll be sore and tired a lot of the time, especially until you build up some strength and stamina. _But,_" and he put emphasis on that word, to ensure that Kenshin heard him clearly, "I will always make sure you learn something constructive from your bruises, and I promise you, I will _never_ hit you in anger. Do you understand?"

Kenshin's mouth opened, as though to reply, but he snapped it shut and gave yet another silent nod, _yes._ Hiko huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Kenshin, you _are_ allowed to speak, you know," he said plainly. "You had plenty to say earlier, when I found you by those gravestones." The boy gave a tiny shrug, and Hiko shook his head. "Well, you'll have to start talking sooner or later. Sooner, actually—I expect some thanks for cooking dinner."

The boy darted a glance at the rice and miso soup cooling nearby. "Thank you, sir," he said softly, shyly.

Hiko snorted at the honorific. "'Sir' is too damned old for me, boy. I'm _Shishou_ to you, got that?"

"Yes, Shishou," Kenshin answered, a bit less timidly. "Thank you, Shishou."

The swordsman nodded his approval. "Good. Now, let's tie those sleeves back so I can take a look at your arms, and then we'll eat. I stuck the rest of that fabric on the shelf over there—go get the long strip on top for me."

Kenshin turned, took one step—and tripped, spilling to the floor in a swamped tangle of limbs and cloth. "Oro," came a faint squeak from the struggling heap.

Hiko sighed, reminded yet again of that clumsy, tongue-lolling puppy. _And here I am, almost two decades later, trying to turn another runty little stray into Mitsurugi's next dragon._

He had the unpleasant feeling that this was going to be the longest damned Mitsurugi apprenticeship in history.

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**Thank you for reading.**

**Yes, I know this isn't the promised chapter of _Closure_. I was working on that, but then I made the mistake of reading Lolo Popoki's excellent Hiko 'n Kenshin WAFF fics, and this idea hit me like an ougi on crack. It's all her fault, really.**

**Review if you're feeling kind—happy readers make a happy author!**


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